


running circles round an empty path

by wheredwellthe_brave_atheart



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 16:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1717700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheredwellthe_brave_atheart/pseuds/wheredwellthe_brave_atheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She traces circles on his skin, empty patterns that she finds comforting all the same."</p><p>Peter/Susan oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	running circles round an empty path

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Chronicles of Narnia world, created by C.S.Lewis. I do not claim ownership over the word or any characters used. I am not profiting in any way from this work, it is my own invention and for entertainment only, and it is not purported to be a part of C.S. Lewis’s official story line.
> 
> I mess around with aspects of both the book and movie universes.
> 
> Another thing: Sometimes I put the Pevensie siblings in relationships (I'm really so sorry, I can't help it sometimes), and sometimes I don't. Bear with me :)

After about an hour of rattling saucers and weak drinks and meaningless conversation, Peter asks her to come have dinner with him. 

This is the third time this week he's made such a request. She's running out of excuses. 

She starts to say something about how she couldn't possibly tonight, and-

"Don't you do that," Peter says very sharply. "Don't you dare. Don't you push me away."

She averts her eyes, pretending to dismiss the idea. "Push you away; honestly, Peter, where-"

But Peter stands up from the table, suddenly blazing with energy, shaking his head and gesturing wildly. "No, no, no, you're doing it again, stop, Susan, don't try it on me anymore, it won't work."

She leans forward in her chair, frowning. "Peter-"

Peter crosses the room in three long strides to sit in the chair next to hers and take her hands in his own.

"Su, do you trust me?" he asks. 

 

His eyes are bright, his hands are hot, and his face is tilted towards her own. 

 

"Of course, Peter-"

He shakes his head and squeezes her hands. "No, no, I don't want to hear a scripted response. I don't want you to pretend. I want to know, Susan, if you can allow yourself to trust me again. To let me be by your side again, to let me love you as I always have." 

 

He is out of place in her tiny kitchen - he is too big, too loud, too grand, too good to be in this world that can't appreciate him for who he is. 

 

He takes a breath, and, keeping his eyes on hers, asks once more, "Do you trust me?" 

 

He deserves better than her, he always has. She is too harsh, too strict, too cold to deserve someone so solid, so bright, so brave - he hurts, he burns, he pushes, he leads, he loves. (This) Life can't contain him.

 

But she can feel his pulse in his wrist, and remembers once again the strength of his good heart. 

For with him, she allows herself to be carefree and warm and bright, and to lead and laugh and dance alongside him. There were many suitors, many a ball with lords and princes vying for her hand -much as she is loathe to remember - but every night would end with only him, as every morning would begin. He was the sun and she the moon, she gaining more light from his fire. Now, as she pushed him away, she waned and grew weaker, dulled by his absence and her stubbornness. 

 

His eyes are (have always been) the blue of the Southern summer skies. 

 

And so - 

 

"Yes," she finds herself whispering, and she hears his intake of breath. "I do. I do, Peter. Always." 

And suddenly, she is kissing him as she used to; as she always would if she would let herself; as she always has; and as she tries to pretend she always will. 

He kisses her with everything in him, giving every piece of himself to her. She craves it, all of it, all of him, he scorches his way through her, and she responds in kind, until they are both left gasping and keening for more. 

 

...

 

When she wakes, it is to the crescent moon shining through her window, illuminating his sleeping face.  
His breath is slow and even, for he trusts her, even now.

 

He loves her. Even now. 

 

(She knows come morning she will wake early and press a kiss to his temple, and walk out with her shoes in hand and a vice clenched around her stubborn heart.)

But for now Diana's bow guards them against the dark, and she allows herself one night spent beside him. 

 

She traces circles on his skin, empty patterns that she finds comforting all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Reviews would be absolutely lovely.


End file.
